Safe Haven
by Ithlien
Summary: Surround the events of Haven, Elissa Cousland cannot help focusing on the events of her past and questioning her leadership. Zevran/ fem Cousland, one-sided Alistair/Cousland. Some fairly mild references to sexual situations.


**Safe Haven**

Summary: Haven brings on memories that Elissa Cousland would have forgotten. Zevran/(fem)Cousland, Alistair/(fem)Cousland (one-sided).

Disclaimer: Dragon Age and its accompanying characters belong to Bioware. Also, I haven't purchased downloadable content (no money) so no Shale yet.

**

It was a blessing that, despite the chilly reception from the locals, Haven was no where near as frigid as the Frostback Mountains had been. Since there was little snow to clear from the ground, setting up camp had taken far less time. Although it was a risk, they had agreed to light an extra fire in order to help thaw some of the permafrost on the ground. Hoping that doing so would keep the cold from leeching into their tents.

Sten had voiced his concern about the apparent open invitation to darkspawn attacks. The combination of increased light and sparse forest border had caused them concern, but the desire for warmth and comfort superseded any competing notion. Sten, who would be comfortable chained to a rock, thankfully did not create too much of a fuss.

"We shouldn't have waited so long to come here." Alistair grumbled, he absently scratched the growing facial hair while eyeing Elissa. "What if the Erl worsens? All because we had to visit the dwarves." He looked fairly sulky, the flickering light of the flames deepening his brow and casting shadows onto his normally open face.

"You yourself told me that we needed to assemble an army." Elissa countered patiently, it was not often that Alistair became surly and irritable but when he did, Maker, he became a trial. She tried to understand that, it wasn't her leadership he was questioning, but simply a vocalization of the exhaustion they were all feeling. She had hoped that finding Haven (and with it the Ashes) on their way back to Redcliffe would provide them with an opportunity for rest. But once she had met with the villagers, she knew this was not a place where they would find good lodging and meals despite the heavy purse she carried.

Tomorrow they would question the villagers about Giovanni and the Ashes, but for the night the camped outside of the village. Elissa tried not to be forlorn about the lack of hospitality; after all, she needed to stop excepting a warm welcome to each village. For most of the year, when the intimidation of the word "Warden" failed to work, she had been able to use her family name to varying degrees of success. But now it had been three months since most of them had seen a decent bed. Though they had (eventually) been given accommodations by Lord Harrowsmith, Orzammar beds were only slightly more comfortable than sleeping on the ground and that was without even considering the height difference involved in the bed frames.

Tomorrow it would be a full year since the attack on Highever. Since her life changed so completely. More than ever, her memory returned to that day and the events surrounding it. Had she ever really been given a choice to join the Grey Wardens? Had any of them? The more she considered it, the more she felt a slow burning anger fill her. She briefly wondered if the Taint that was growing inside of her could bare partial blame for her increasing aggression and anger. Though she thought she had been masking her true feelings, every so often someone would give a pitying look that startled her, making her question her abilities.

Perhaps it was her internalized feelings towards Duncan that were part of this growing resentment. What she felt was something that, it seemed, could never be said aloud. She offered platitudes to Alistair, who was clearly grieving the loss of his mentor and friend. She wondered how Alistair would react should he learn how truly empty her words were.

How truly empty she was.

She could recall cradling her nephews head, ignoring the cold stillness of his body. How much he looked like Fergus. She was grateful for reaching the room before her mother, so she could cover the…games that had been played with her sister-in –law's body.

She remembers Duncan's insistence prior to the attack that he be allowed to see her fight. She had inherited her mother's legendary lethality with blades. She was the proud daughter of the one of the first Warrior Maidens of Orlais. Elissa had never been told the full story of her mother's life, she knew her mother had been raised from poverty and had been petitioning for women to be allowed to join the Orlais Infantry when she had met Bryce Cousland, who had travelled on a Diplomatic mission trying to rebuild the connections between the two countries. They had married, had children and her mother had happily laid down her sword.

She thought of her mother, defiant as she stood by her dying husband, refusing to leave for safety. Then she thought of Duncan, pressing her to make a decision to join him as an inductee to the Wardens. She could still almost feel the vice grip he had on her arm as her pulled her away from her family. Away from the charred smell of bodies and thick notes of blood and dust. They hadn't stayed to save the servants or to look for survivors. Instead, they hid in the shadows, like rats, and left the land to burn.

It had taken them two weeks to travel to Ostagar. Duncan bribed a travelling bard to part with his horse which aided their travels. During that time, she had seen that Duncan was a good man, just one simply bound by duty. She could respect him, but she could never care for him.

When she thought of him now, it was always with a tinge of bile. She thought of Daveth gutted on his blade. She thought of the bruises on her arm as he dragged her from Highever. She thought of the polluted blood flowing down her throat as he watched her drink.

This would not do.

Elissa sighed deeply, leaning closer to the fire. Desperate for warmth that she knew she lacked. She blinked slowly, unfocusing her eyes from the flames, sneaking a quick look around the campfire. They were a mismatched band of warriors. Morrigan still set up her tent fair from the rest of them, but she seemed more willing to spend her evenings sitting by the communal fire rather than her private one. The apostate continued to present herself as an unempathetic and disjointed creature, but the few childhood stories that she had recited to Elissa had proven that Morrigan's attitude was a symptom of her isolated childhood with her strange mother.

She arched her back and rolled her neck, attempting to loosen some of the pent-up aches in her back. The muscles were sore, unused to the constant tension of remaining vigilant.

She ached for a good hot bath. Something to wash away this anger and regret. They all seemed to be followed by the lingering smell of blood, leather and rust. A good cleansing was something she supposed, that they could all do with. Though she was not a victim of vanity, noble breeding had instilled her with a certain awareness of decorum and dress.

Alistair's hair, though he had much pride in it, was already far too long in the back. He no longer trusted Leliana to cut it anymore. Not that it mattered; Morrigan had reappropiated the scissors for use in collecting deadly herbs. The last time Leliana had tried to use the scissors after Morrigan; the bard's hair had burnt slightly due to a miniscule residue of venom on the blades. Leliana had to suffer through a lop-sided haircut, while the rest of them suffered through the smell of charred hair in their camp.

Wynne, ever the practical maternal figure, had devised a spell that would shorten the regrowth of hair. It took weeks for hair to give the impression of the 5 o'clock shadow. Which made Alistair's beard all the more impressive.

Elissa enjoyed distracting herself with these minute problems. If she focused on details like hair, soap, and armors' then she felt a sense of normalcy. Like she hadn't been appointed Saviour of Federlen.

A small pot was placed on the glowing embers that burned on the outskirts of the communal fire. The pot, though aged and well used, was a new purchase from Bodahn. The bottom was thick and well made, Oghren had looked it over and announced that it was of dwarven make, rare since most dwarves only made armor or swords, and was well worth the 16 gold that Bodahn asked for. She had even arranged for Sandal to put a small enchantment on the pot that would prevent the contents from burning.

The purchase was being put to good use; Zevran had stolen a pumpkin while she had tried, without success, to bargain with the guards outside the village for lodging. Though she failed in finding beds, they were at least treated to a pumpkin stew.

The heady scent had begun to emanate from the pot. Elissa watched as Wynne took a tiny sip of the liquid and nodded slowly. Wynne began ladling portions into waiting bowls, as she held one out to Morrigan, the apostate sniffed with distain and walked back to her tent. The witch still refused to eat anything that Zevran had even the smallest role in. Elissa wasn't sure what Morrigan was eating to make up for the occasional missed meal, Alistair commented that she was probably sustained on the souls of children, but it was nice to have a little extra food portioned out at the end of the night.

***

They had awoken before the end of the second watch of the night. The air was still chilly and the frozen dew glittered on the ground from the still rising sun. During his watch Alistair had sensed the faint presence of darkspawn. They had packed their camp as quickly as possible, aiming to find, flank, and kill the darkspawn before more were summoned. It was important to strike before the darkspawn found Haven and attacked the villagers.

Elissa crouched low, her haunches protesting with a few uncustomary creaks and twinges. Letting out a shallow breath, she leaned back slightly, hoping that her sounds, however miniscule, did not alert the darkspawn in front of them.

Grasping her hilt of her daggers, she eased them out of their sheaths. Sten looked at her with disapproval, though the man was nearly a giant he moved with such stealth and prowess it nearly rivaled Zevran's.

Elissa glared in return, still unaccustomed to having her talents and abilities doubted. She rolled her shoulders in an attempt to alleviate the growing discomfort in her lower back. They had been waiting, crouched and ready for almost half an hour, for the darkspawn to become distracted. For the first time in a few weeks, the darkspawn had gained on them, following them discretely for nearly three days. She wondered when her attention her attention had faltered so much that she failed to notice that they had been followed.

Her hand dropped, slowly brushing the dew that settled on the grass. Though she did not hear it, she felt Zevran slip beside her. His gaze, for once, focused on kill rather than the hunt. His unnatural warmth caused her distraction, giving her fleeting reminders of warm beds and stone fireplaces. It was disconcerting that a foreigner, especially one who now lacked any home, could remind her of her own lost home.

Zevran caught her eye, winking roguishly as though he sensed her distraction. She supposed that as an assassin Zevran had become a keen interpreter of the human condition, and therefore probably knew or sensed intricacies about all of them that they didn't want him to know.

He nodded towards the darkspawn, who had now become distracted with the apparently enthralling task of ripping the legs from a wild halla. She grimaced, wishing for the opportunity to put the animal out of its misery prior to it being ravaged by the creatures. Zevran turned slightly toward Sten; his body twisting fluidly despite his armor, the men seemed to share a silent conversation. The air seemed to buzz with anticipation as Zevran and Sten eased out of the bushes, preparing to flank the creatures. Both Morrigan and Wynne began muttering under their breaths, preparing themselves to stun the darkspawn for an even easier assault. The entire process took about 10 minutes, with only Wynne feeling the effects of battle. The spirit inside of the mage, though giving her enormous magical strength, sapped her physical strength quickly.

Elissa stretched wearily, watching as Leliana attempted to keep Dug from running off with the mangled remains of the halla. Leliana called out to the mabri dog as sweetly as possible, while throwing contemptuous glances back at Elissa.

"If you are expecting any dinner tonight..." Leliana called out to Elissa, the Orlsian accent made Leliana's normally honeyed voice clipped and haughty.

Elissa rolled her eyes, reminded of the manic attempts by her family's kitchen staff at keeping Dog out of the pantry. The thought caused her to frown slightly as she realized that those people whom she loved to torment were, most likely, dead. She tried to avoid turning her thoughts to that day, but sometimes a ravaged body, good mead, or a harsh tone would remind her of the Highever Massacre so sharply that it left her breathless.

"Are you alright?" Wynne appeared next to her, the older mage smiled warily looking Elissa over for a sign of distress. "You've turned pale."

Elissa waved her away. She turned, catching Alistair's line of sight. The templar beckoned her over; she nodded and slowly walked over to where he was clearing the camp. Elissa pretended not to notice that his eyes seemed to light up whenever she focused her attention on him. Though she was fond of Alistair, as the two surviving grey wardens they shared a bond that none of the other's could ever comprehend, the man reminded her too much of Highever. In another life, he would have been ideal for her. He certainly reminded her of the sweet boys that her mother insisted on pushing on her as a potential marriage match. Her mother's singular goal in life seemed to be to see Elissa happily married. Alistair reminded her of her mother's goal and how her father would have heartily approved.

Though he did not mean to be, he was a constant reminder of a life lost. He was Duncan's protégé; at times he displayed the same single-mindedness that Duncan showed that night in Highever.

Alistair grinned, looking far too optimistic for a man that was digging graves for the darkspawn they had felled. Not to honor them, but to ensure that scavengers would not be drawn to the potent smell of darkspawn blood. Interestingly enough, though they had been easy to attack, the darkspawn had chosen a fairly fortified position. A few well-placed wards and traps and it was probably one of the more secure campsites they had set up in months.

"What are the chances of Haven overcoming its hostility and welcoming us with food, wine and beds?" Alistair asked hopefully, looking far less impressed with the camp than Elissa was.

She shrugged, "unlikely something seemed off there. I'd like to investigate the town further but we may need to break a few noses first."

Alistair nodded, frowning briefly. Elissa followed his darkened gaze to where Sten and Zevran were cleaning and re-conditioning their blades. "I suppose that a small team would be warranted them?" There was a faint hint of accusation in his words.

Though Alistair was her senior in both rank and age, he had given her leadership and for the most part had dealt with his secondary role with grace. He let her know when he was displeased with her decisions, often more vocally and publicly than she would have preferred.

She could sense his obvious displeasure at being left behind, while she led others ahead to scout villages and trails before calling the other party members to join them. She told herself it was a tactical decision; it wasn't safe to have the only two grey warden's travel together. It was safer if one always remained a little further behind to ensure that should one scouting party be surprised and attacked, both would not be killed. Recently Elissa had been taking Zevran and Wynne with her on when first entering a new village, with the rest following once trust had been established.

Elissa nodded, feeling oddly guilty as a quick flash of sadness passed in Alistair's eyes, "Wynne would put them at ease, plus she can pack a mean punch if needed.

"And?" Alistair questioned, he seemed to be placing more interest into the question than usual.

Elissa shrugged again, she attempted to look as cool and level-headed about her decision as possible. She wanted Alistair to know that it was nothing personal. "Zevran would be the most obvious choice."

"Obvious?" Alistair sneered, though his distrust of the Antivan had been clear from the beginning, Elissa found his attitude fairly irritating. Not only had Alistair vowed to support her and her decisions, but she thought that she had earned his loyalty and friendship and she had done everything possible to ensure Connor's safety. Despite the fact that journeying to the Circle of Magi had caused the deaths of several servants and guards. Those additional deaths were placed on her head. Six further people had died so that one royal family member could live. Not only that, but Zevran had been travelling with then for near a year now. Had he wished to kill them there were several times over that he could have done so.

She was fairly certain she knew why Alistair was behaving more and more unreasonably. She wanted to explain it to him, but wasn't sure if there was any way to put her emotions into words. Alistair was the obvious white knight, when the storybooks that her mother read to her when she was young they were probably describing Alistair. A tall, handsome, orphaned princeling. He was the stuff of fairytales. And fairytales had always bored her. She had never wanted to sit in a tower and wait for rescue. She wanted to carve her own future, and to do so she learnt how to handle a blade. Alistair was the obvious choice for her to pin her affections onto. Alistair was the hero and Zevran was the rogue. This never really made sense to her, since she saw just as much darkness in Alistair as she saw goodness in Zevran.

She supposed that Alistair was waiting for her to tell him. To tell him that they would always be friends, be family, but never anything more. Especially since she sense that whatever was developing between her and Zevran would soon pass the point of no return. Not just in regards to sex, Zevran was never coy about his attraction to her or about his own promiscuity. Secrets had passed between her and the Antivan, she was dangerously close to sharing more of herself with her would-be assassin than anyone she'd ever met. Currently Zevran seemed to be holding back, he had told her of torture, threesomes, and passionate affairs with men and women, successful assassinations, but there was something he continued to hide from her.

Alistair sighed, catching her attention once more. Elissa smiled guilty at the man, noticing how fatigued the templar looked. "I'm sure you know what's best." He admitted another a few moments hesitation. "Remember that I—we're here if anything goes south."

**

Alone. She wanted to be alone. She wanted to howl, scratch of her skin, and find a way to break the mask that she had so carefully applied. Instead, she maintained her composure as they returned to the camp, which was surprisingly undisturbed despite the fact they had been fighting their way through temples and caves for the past two days. The wards the Morrigan placed must have been strong indeed.

Leliana arranged for a travelling merchant they had come across to take Brother Giovanni back to Denerim to recover from his ordeal. Normally, Elissa would have taken care of such arrangements but her mood was so foul that the bard knew instinctively just to let her be. Whatever rift that was felt prior to the trip seemed to have partially mended itself, as it always did after a successful battle. Leliana and Alistair were comparing Chantry tales about the Urn of Sacred Ashes and the potential that the discovery served. Sten and Zevran were joking further behind them about the various decorative uses that the Urn could better serve. The friendship between the elf and Qunari was a bit of a surprise, but she supposed that Zevran's amorality and elven heritage played a strong influence.

Elissa tried to swallow the rising battle on her throat. The trial that the Guardian had put them through had bothered her more than she would admit. The questions the Guardian asked unnerved her. When she answered she had felt him pulling at her thoughts, pulling at the threads of memories, truths, and fictions, everything she believed. When he had asked the other's their questions, she could still feel him in her head apparently determining her worth.

They opted to return to camp rather than remain in Haven any longer than necessary. Elissa had no wish to remain in a town where they massacred most of the inhabitants. Though they had been fairly powerful cultists, most of those that attacked them did so with sticks or bare hands. No match for their skilled blades. She had to wonder if most of the villagers had been operating under some kind of influence that enthralled them into service. She felt slightly ill at the thought that the villagers may have had no control over their actions.

Zevran sauntered over to where she had isolated herself, balancing two bowling on his hands. Elissa had positioned herself by her tent, far enough from the fire to convey that she wished to remain alone, but not so far that the others would assume that she was disturbed by the events.

She took the bowl that was handed to her, watching as the elf slid next to her. She focused her eyes on the food, assuming that the silence would eventually bore the assassin into leaving her be. Elissa sniffed the stew cautiously. Though they had chosen not to remain in the village, Sten had raided a few houses before emerging with what appeared to be an abandoned family dinner. "It's of no use to them." Sten had intoned, quickly ceasing any comments Elissa had been prepared to make.

Surprising, neither Wynne nor Leliana complained about the morality of the action. This led Elissa to believe that they were hungrier than they had willing to say. They had all lost weight in the past few months. Elissa idly wondered if she should borrow the mirror she gifted to Morrigan to see if she looked as haggard as she felt. She knew what when they arrived at Redcliffe, they would need a longer rest period than they normally took. She had rushed them from Orzammar to Haven, her blood pumping from the numerous darkspawn encounters in the Deep Roads and from the newfound knowledge of the special means of torture employed by the darkspawn.

She regretted the brash decision now. Wounds were taking longer to heal, despite the potency of Wynne's spells. Nerves were becoming more frayed and brittle, especially since Oghren ran out of booze. They were all irritable, which was to be expected for such a large party.

She wondered what he father would have thought of such a huge oversight of the well-being of her team. Her brother would never have made such a decision. Under his command, they would have been well-fed and sleeping in cots.

"Do you think this is goat or horse?" Zevran interrupted, dangling a piece of unappetizing meat in from of her.

She looked at him, unimpressed with his conversation starter. The elf hated to sit in silence for long, but she was in no mood to provide entertainment.

Zevran shrugged, sensing her animosity. "No matter," popping the grayed meat into his mouth. He always seemed to be in movement, his body seemed to vibrate with unspent energy. Perhaps that was why he radiated such high levels of warmth. She fought the urge to move closer, knowing how quickly and easily he would be willing to warn her.

"You seem a little…" Zevran appeared to take a moment to consider his words, "…tense."

Elissa stilled, letting her spoon fall back into her bowl. She paused, turning to him, unintentionally leaning in closer to make herself heard. "You weren't exactly relaxed back there either."

"I'm not the one sulking about it." Zevran teased, ignoring her look of warning as he leaned in, his lips only a breath away from hers. "Besides, normally you tell me of you wild days as a princess and your family's many jewel to stave off my boredom." He winked at her before resuming his previous position.

"Boredom?" She felt a smile twitch at the corners of her mouth, despite her currently state of mind. "We _just_ found the Urn of Sacred Ashes."

Zevran shrugged, stretching his long legs in front of him, his new boots looked as though they had recently been buffed and cleaned.

Watching his self-assured mannerisms, Elissa almost regretted giving him the boots, but he had seemed so genuinely touched by the gift. Growing up with luxury, Elissa had not wanted for much, so she was also so surprised by how touched the members of her party seemed to be when she remembered a trinket or item that they had mentioned in past conversations. Her life had been so blessed compared to the others. Yet, she was so haunted by the massacre at Highever that she could not imagine having to carry such a burden throughout her life.

"I'm not royalty." She protested softly, though compared to all of them she may as well have been. Even Alistair, who bore royal blood, had been torn away from his sister and force to live in the Chantry.

"Perhaps." Zevran ignored her comment, brushing away invisible marks off his boots. Of all of them, Zevran was the most fastidious about his appearance, taking great care to upkeep his grooming regardless of where they were camped.

She was unsure as to whether Zevran was truly interest in what was preoccupying her, or if he truly was bored an assumed goading her would provide a moment's entertainment. He always wore a veneer of disinterest that seemed to guard him from the prying eyes of the other members of their party. Elissa found that if she spoke to him long enough that cracks would appear and he seemed almost shy around her. Though he often told her the lewdest stories of his past, she wondered if he was simply preparing her for one important story that he wished to share. Perhaps the one that the Guardian had hinted at.

She debated whether it was worth keeping her thoughts to herself. She always found herself divulging her innermost thoughts to the elf. Though he claimed to have no interest in 'touchy-feely- conversation, he seemed to welcome her thoughts, which made her doubt that it was all a grand plan of seduction. Though Zevran acted unaffected by his past, she had seen his dreams with the Fade and she knew that he preferred to take the night watches because he didn't want to be caught unawares by the Crows.

"I lied." She said after a moment's debate. "To the Guardian." She added as a brief look of confusion clouded his face.

"Oh?"

She wasn't sure if that was a comment of interest or a further question, but she continued nonetheless. "I said that I didn't regret my actions. That I was justified in leaving my parents to die because it was better that I searched for my brother than help defend my family."

She looked at Zevran, expecting him to interrupt with a droll comment or simply leave. Surprisingly enough, he did neither, he met her gaze and waited.

"But that's not what happened. I never got the chance to find my brother. He had already been sent ahead into the Wilds with his infantry." She paused, feeling overwhelmed by finally speaking the guilt that she had harbored for so long. "You know I had the chance to leave Alistair and Morrigan behind in Lothering. I could have slipped out and tried to find my brother while the trail was still fresh."

"You are honorable to a fault my dear." Zevran said simply, absently twirling a dagger in his hands. Elissa sensed it was more out of a need to act rather than disinterest.

Elissa snorted, Zevran grinned at the unladylike action. "You know that image of my father?" She looked at him holding his gaze, his face devoid of any smirk for once. "Do you know how I knew it was the work of the Guardian and not my father's spirit?

Zevran waited, slowing the turning dagger in his hands before returning it to its sheath. He turned his full attention onto her, a rare feat that was only ever done when they were deep in flirtatious conversation. He looked at her with a calm intensity that she only witnessed on the battlefield.

"He never mentioned Fergus, my brother. The prodigal son is missing, my parents are dead, my land and title have been taken from me…and he says he's glad I'm happy? I was never given the chance to fix it, fix any of it." Her voice was trembling more than she would like. She had not cried often since they began their mission to assemble an army. Many times she had been close, but she had found that a string of curses, preferably in the harsh Qunari language, or a sparring session seemed to calm her raw nerves. Becoming a leader denied her any appearance of weakness.

She was loathed to so any weakness now, especially in front of him. He had been so marveled by her strength and places such trust in her leadership that she felt it would be a disappointment if she allowed her tears to overwhelm her. Elissa swallowed harshly, attempting to calm herself. Her chest shook with the effort to reign in her emotions. Slowly she found herself aware of Zevran's warm hand making small comforting circles on her back. The act was so unexpected from the assassin, something she would have expected from Leliana or Alistair.

She cautiously leaned into his touch. He stilled for a moment, before awkwardly pulling her close to him. He smelled of leather and conditioning oil, she noted as he tightened his grip on her. She breathed in his scent deeply, finding the smell of Antivan leather oddly comforting. Beyond the smell of tanned hide, there was the faint hint of salt and sun.

Elissa felt her rage and guilt melt as Zevran's warmth seeped into her skin. She realized how sore her muscles were, how her bones ached. For a blissfully moment, her mind went blank and all she would focus on was his warmth and the way he was stroking her arm. She felt a different type of ache blossom inside of her, one that she was unsure of how to act on.

Closing her eyes, she felt him shift slightly. Her eyes fluttered open as she felt his hot breath linger on her ear. She gasped softly, as he leaned in a lightly bit her lobe.

"What are you doing Zevran?" She whispered, sounding far more breathless than she thought was appropriate. Her voice sounded faint to her ears, as her body focused itself on Zevran's light touches.

"Comforting." He drawled after a moment, his voice sound deeper than usual. He dragged his lips from her ear to her collarbone, his free hand slowly travelling under her shirt. She breathed shallowly as his fingertips skimmed her rib bones, he was playing her as though she was an instrument. She shivered slightly as his mouth nipped and sucked at her neck. Her lips burned for his, and yet he stayed away. "I'm been told I am excellent at comforting beautiful women."

Elissa held back moan as his thumb grazed her breast. "That and killing them afterward." She retorted, focusing only on the deliciously empty feeling in her head.

Zevran paused his exploration as he pulled away from her. Elissa looked at him questioningly, her eyes still slightly unfocused. The elf sighed a little, looking as though he regretted his actions, though Elissa wasn't sure which part he regretted; the starting or the stopping. "I wasn't aware my loyalty was still in question."

"What?" Elissa felt confused by his rare serious tone, she wasn't sure if this was still part of his game. "Zev?"

The serious look in his eyes softened at her use of his nickname. He leaned in, pulling a loose strand of hair behind her ear. He toyed with her hair for a moment. His body seemed tense, and she finally understood. He was waiting for her to make the next move. Her hand reached out on its own accord, and lightly stroked his jaw. She felt her stomach drop as she pulled him in for the kiss he had denied her before. Her tongue slipped past his teeth, and her hand tangled in his hair as the kiss grew more frenzied.

She pulled away, feeling suddenly brazen and no longer wanting to remain along reflecting on the mistakes of the past. "If you come back to my tent, would you promise not to kill me in the morning?" She teased, biting his lower lip before he could answer.

Zevran grinned, his eyes looking darker and more focused than she had ever seen them. "I'm sure…something could be arranged."

It probably wasn't the best military strategy or tactic. But pulling him into her tent, all that mattered was that when he touched her, her brain ceased its criticism. As he deftly undid the simple leather armor she wore, she felt more human, more alive than she had in almost a year.


End file.
